


The Devil's Right Hand

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bloodplay, Breathplay, F/M, Light Masochism, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series up to end of series one. Aramis enjoys everything about his sex life, until a new recruit joins the regiment.</p><p>Mild bloodplay, breathplay and masochism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Right Hand

Since the first time he'd touched himself intimately, Aramis had always found sex to be the ultimate comfort. Even more so, once he discovered that joyous place between a girl's legs. There was nothing so perfect as to burrow into silky heat, whilst suckling at rosy nipples until they peaked firm in his mouth.

Reality struck hard with the swell of a belly, and harder still with the loss that incurred soon afterwards, but this never inhibited his love of love making.

All his life, he’d been encouraged to join the church, but it became increasingly obvious that entering the priesthood would allow him little opportunity to enjoy his erotic pursuits. The military career, he opted for instead, was one he enjoyed wholeheartedly. Women already desired him for his good looks and charming ways, but to be skilled in the ways of combat as well as the bedroom was an added appeal.

Being a soldier also taught him how much enjoyment could be found in another man's body. His first experiences were quick, adrenaline fueled fumblings, no more than a release of tension, but in Porthos he found a partner who was eager to explore every taboo pleasure imaginable. They weren't exclusive, but there was a frequency and honest delight to their sex that Aramis came to rely upon greatly.

They were already established lovers when Treville foisted a new recruit onto them to train and, after getting little out of the man himself, they spent a lot of time discussing him in private. Athos was a mystery, his refined accent at odds with his untidy appearance and drunken ways.

"He's a cold fish," said Porthos as he took Aramis in hand after a night of heavy drinking with their newest Musketeer. "What do you make of him?"

"Maybe we should try and warm him up," said Aramis as he lay back with his eyes closed, enjoying Porthos’ attentions. Athos was an attractive man and there was something oddly appealing about his reticent attitude.

"Don't even think about it," said Porthos with a grin. "He'll report us to the captain soon as blink."

Aramis wriggled down the bed. "Imagine that cold fish crouched between your legs, sucking at your cock with his icy mouth." He licked Porthos from root to tip and took him in deep.

"I'd like that," groaned Porthos. "If only to see him brought down a peg or two."

\---

The first time Athos found them in bed together was entirely by accident. It happened a full year after he'd been in the regiment, when he was sent to Aramis' rooms with orders from Treville.

"Our leave is cut short," he stated with no more reaction than a raised eyebrow. "The captain needs us to escort the king and queen to Anjou as a matter of urgency." He tilted his head and a smile lurked around his eyes. "I apologise for disturbing you, gentlemen, but I do appreciate only having to deliver this message once."

The corner of his mouth tipping upwards into a definite smirk, he left the room with Porthos still firmly embedded inside Aramis.

"I didn't dare look," said Porthos. "Was he livid?"

"I'd say he was faintly amused," said Aramis, disappointed above all else. He was learning to like Athos a lot, strange creature though he might be, and the idea of having him in bed was becoming more and more appealing.

"Amused is better than disgusted," said Porthos as he began to move inside Aramis.

"It is, 'though he's no more accessible to us now than he was before." Aramis took hold of his own cock and began a slow stroke. "How would we have him? You in his arse, my prick in his mouth."

"Him in between us," said Porthos. "Me and him having a frot, with you fucking his tight, virgin bum."

"He's probably outside the door right now, cock in hand," laughed Aramis, though the thought wasn't as ridiculous as it should have been and it helped them both to a sudden climax.

\---

Four years later, when the three of them eventually fell into bed together, it was proof that sex was the comfort Aramis had always known it to be.

Encouraging their new friend d'Artagnan to leave the alehouse and return to his lodgings, Aramis crouched down beside Athos, taking that wretched locket from his hand and slipping the chain back inside his shirt. "You stare at this too much," he said.

"It reminds me of my misdeeds," said Athos, his voice slurred a little from the effects of the wine. 

It had been a traumatic time for all three men, and coming so close to losing Athos was exactly the push Aramis needed.

"You should not spend tonight alone, my friend," said Aramis, his fingers brushing subtly against Athos' thigh.

"Perhaps not," agreed Athos, and when he looked up his eyes were so full of loneliness that, even if he’d insisted, Aramis would not have allowed him to return to his meagre rooms in solitude.

"Come on then, boys," said Porthos, and in the end it was a simple matter to take Athos home, divest him of his clothing and pull him into bed between them. So simple, in fact, that Aramis wondered why they hadn't taken the plunge years ago.

It was indeed a comfort when they held Athos exhausted between them and brought him off with fingers and tongues. It was Heaven when he lay passively in the bed, with Aramis inside him and Porthos rearing up behind, and yet it turned out to be an experiment rarely repeated.

The few times Athos came to their bed after that, it seemed as if he were searching for something and, to Aramis’ chagrin, there was always a hint of disappointment in his eyes when he left.

“Are we not enough for you?” he asked after months had passed and Athos had not returned to them.

“I am not a libidinous man,” Athos said dourly, but his eyes betrayed him and the lie was obvious.

It was true he had not shown any desire for the Comtesse de Larroque--honour feeding his desperation to save the woman, rather than lust--but he was certainly passionate in his anger for the mysterious Mme de la Chapelle.

“Know that you’re always welcome in our bed,” said Aramis, wanting, above all else, to lighten the heavy aura of unhappiness that clothed Athos like a shroud.

\---

Aramis knew he was dwelling on the matter far too much, and in the end Porthos took him to task over it: “Are you in love with Athos, or are you simply obsessed with him because he’s your first romantic failure?”

“Neither,” said Aramis affronted. “But he’s the same curiosity he was five years ago. We’ve bedded him several times, and yet he still refuses to divulge anything personal about himself. Does that not bother you?”

“Honestly, no,” said Porthos. “I’m happy that I have you. I don’t need a mystery to solve between the sheets.” 

Aramis kissed him full on the mouth, a pleasure they didn’t often indulge in, and the slide of tongues and sinuous rub of naked bodies was enough to coax them to a wonderful climax.

\---

As it happened, it was purely by chance that Aramis unearthed a small part of the secret.

On his way home from a visit to his new patroness, he was taking a shortcut back to his rooms, hoping to avoid the worst of the rainstorm, when he came upon Athos, his clothes in a state of disarray, pushing a female companion up against the wall, and kissing her with an urgency Aramis had never seen in him before.

Knowing that the chivalrous thing would be to leave them to their dalliance, Aramis was planning an alternate route home when Athos took a step back, and it became quite clear that the woman he was with was none other than the notorious Mme de la Chapelle.

However, it was still none of his business, and Aramis was about to make his escape when the woman lifted her skirts, removing a small dagger from a sheath on her stocking, and Athos tugged open the laces of his shirt, baring his chest to her.

Rooted to the spot Aramis watched, wondering at what point he should step in to prevent a murder from happening. However, none of this seemed anything other than intimate and as Mme de la Chapelle drew the dagger across Athos’ skin, Aramis heard a familiar moan of pleasure, and he watched as the woman latched on to the cut and suckled at it. Scrabbling to unfasten his breeches and small clothes Athos lifted her bodily onto his cock and the sounds coming from them as they fucked were animal in their need for each other. 

It was both disturbing and arousing to watch and, unwilling to play voyeur any longer, Aramis left, the sounds of his footsteps disguised by the worsening weather as he hurried home.

“I saw Athos tonight,” he said, falling to his knees to unfasten Porthos’ breeches.

The man’s cock was so beautiful it had the power to make Aramis forget anything else existed in the world. He slid his hand over the smooth flesh, rolling the skin back and forth until Porthos was grasping the arms of the chair and thrusting up into the tunnel of Aramis’ fingers.

“Not a surprise,” Porthos groaned. “We see him near enough every day.”

Aramis had his own breeches open now and an image of Athos, rain soaked and blood stained, came into his mind and would not leave him be. “He was fucking a woman in the street, up against the wall,” he said curling a palm around his own erection.

“No. Not Athos,” said Porthos, standing up and pulling Aramis to his feet he undressed him with practiced ease.

“True indeed,” said Aramis, helping Porthos out of his clothes. 

“I’ll have _you_ up against the wall,” growed Porthos, slicking them both up with oil and pushing Aramis toward the paneling, near enough to the fire that they wouldn’t freeze. “Bet he didn’t fuck her up the bum.”

“He lifted her up and slammed into her cunt as if he had to have her or he’d die.”

“You’re getting too involved,” said Porthos, reaching for Aramis’ cock. “You’ll be writing poetry about them soon. Anyway, we’re like that all the time.”

“We are.” Aramis leant his head back against Porthos’ shoulder. “He isn’t.”

“Probably prefers women,” said Porthos, angling his thrust to make Aramis cry out. “A lot of men do.”

“Haven’t told you the strangest part yet,” says Aramis, that tell tale tingle of pre orgasm making him gasp with pleasure in between words. 

“Tell me.” Porthos bit into his shoulder, sucking bruises onto the skin.

“It was Mme de la Chapelle that he was fucking,” said Aramis, barely able to string the sentence together he was so close.

“I thought he hated her,” said Porthos.

“So he claims,” said Aramis. 

He thought about the knife and that moan of utter abandonment from Athos when she’d cut him and, undone, he came in thick spurts over Porthos’ hand, the big man heaving in a strangled breath and releasing inside him moments afterward.

\---

Aramis wanted to talk to Athos about what he’d seen that night. In truth he was worried about the man. All of them carried scars--they were soldiers with countless war wounds--but Athos had some which were deep and ragged, never quite healing. It seemed likely now that they were part of a sex act rather than an injury.

The time, however, was never right for a heart to heart, especially since the debacle with the queen and the banishment of Mme de la Chapelle, who had turned out to be none other than Athos’ wife.

The queen’s pregnancy was also a looming worry. The evidence of Aramis’ treasonous act was growing within her belly, and he felt as if he’d betrayed everyone, especially Porthos.

“You must tell him,” said Athos as the two of them were returning from Rouen on horseback. “He will find out. The truth always worms its way free.”

“He and I are lovers,” said Aramis quietly. “Nothing more.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” said Athos, looking sideways at him. “You have a connection that’s stronger than most marriages. Do you want to throw that away for the sake of a lie?”

“I haven’t lied to him.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.”

“And what about your secret concerning Milady?”

“I had no one to tell,” said Athos bleakly.

The remainder of the journey passed in silence and, after much pondering, Aramis had finally made up his mind to go straight to Porthos and tell him the truth, when a hint of darkness in Athos’ voice caused him concern and he chose, instead, to follow him.

Aware immediately that the man was not headed for his lodging house in Rue Férou, Aramis expected to be led to a tavern, but instead it was the Beaubourg Quartier they arrived in, specifically the infamous brothel belonging to Madame Angel. He’d been here a few times to attend some of her parties, but couldn’t, for a minute, imagine Athos enjoying the place.

Following him inside, whilst keeping a discreet distance, he was quickly able to ascertain that he’d assumed wrongly. Far from disliking the place his friend was obviously a regular, and instead of waiting in the tap room for one of the girls to become available, he strode through the building and up a back staircase.

It seemed an easy enough plan to go after him, but Aramis’ progress was halted by a giant of a man.

“Private,” said the bodyguard, barring him with a beefy arm.

“My friend has just gone up and I need to speak with him urgently. It’s a matter of the utmost importance concerning the King.”

“Private,” repeated the man, and Aramis wasn’t at all sure he knew any other words.

They were at an impasse. Aramis had no intention of leaving and the guard was not going to let him through, and so they waited, glaring at each other, time ticking away.

“Is there a problem?” said a big boned, rather elderly woman: the infamous Madame Angel if Aramis wasn’t mistaken.

“My friend has gone up to the private rooms and I need to speak to him immediately."

"Five livres," said Madame Angel.

"Pardon," said Aramis.

"Five livres will gain you entrance," she said.

So this is how she could afford to be so big boned. "It seems an awfully large sum of money to mount a staircase," he said.

"Five livres, no more no less." She smiled discreetly. "What you do, or don't do when you get up there is your business."

The mystery too intriguing to ignore, Aramis took out his money pouch and counted out the coins. "I hope this is worth it," he said archly.

Climbing the stairs, he opened the single door at the top to discover that he was in a large room, dressed more like the notorious harems of the Near East than an attic in Paris. 

The atmosphere was dense with smoke, but in the centre of the room Aramis could make out the figure of Athos, stark naked and lying back in the arms of a man who had an arm hooked around his neck. Blood dripped down from an open wound and a young man crouched at his side lapping it up whilst a woman knelt with a hooked gutting knife in hand. As she leant forward, slicing deep into skin, Athos cried out in ecstasy and, though he was restrained by a leather strap around him, Aramis recognised that as the sound of his climax.

"Come with me," said a girl, who was so beautiful that the erect cock poking through the diaphanous layers of her robe was easy to dismiss.

"No!" he said vehemently, because this was a dangerous place and that one word from his mouth was enough to make Athos' eyes fly open.

They stared at each other, the whores continuing to tend to Athos' needs until the dark man tightened his choke hold and Aramis could watch no longer.

\---

Aramis walked back through the Beaubourg district, ignoring the beggars who pestered him for money. His mind was overrun with what he'd seen; there was too much to process and he needed time to think.

There was also something of greater importance than Athos’ predilection for pain that he must deal with first, and he was not at all certain how the news would go down. Porthos was fond of both king and queen, and had been over the moon to hear about the much longed for pregnancy.

"How was your day?" Porthos greeted him with a smile and a cup of wine, and Aramis sank down into a fireside chair, absolutely exhausted.

"It was taxing," he said, and then pointed to the twin chair opposite. "Sit, Porthos. I have something to tell you."

"Have you found another rich widow in Rouen?" Porthos grinned.

Aramis looked ruefully at him. "The lady in question is wealthy, but neither from Rouen, nor a widow."

"Don't tell me you're finally getting wed." Porthos' face fell a mile and Aramis leaned forward and took hold of his hands.

"I am not." I am yours, he found himself wanting to say. "But what I must tell you is perhaps worse."

Porthos squeezed at his fingers. "Go on then."

"The queen is having my child."

There was a long silence, and the bellow of laughter, which Aramis had been praying for, never arrived. He'd hoped that Porthos would thump him playfully, tell him he'd been a dirty old hound, and then they'd fall into bed.

"You fucked the queen," said Porthos, his eyes narrowing, his voice a rumble of anger. "You fucked her long enough ago to know she is pregnant with your child, and you have the gall to only tell me about it now."

"It's dangerous for you to know at all," said Aramis. "Athos said we could all be hanged for treason."

"Athos knows." Porthos was furious.

"He was there," confessed Aramis.

"Did he take part? Maybe the queen is having his baby, or did he get shafted by you as well?"

"Porthos listen.” Aramis pressed a hand onto Porthos' knee. “I slept with her when we were at the convent and Athos discovered us in the morning." The truth sounded terrible, even to his own ears. "I made a mistake and I regret it bitterly. I would not upset you for the world."

"Too late," said Porthos, standing and fixing his accoutrements in place. "I'll go to my own rooms tonight."

"Porthos don't," begged Aramis. "Please stay with me."

"I can't. I need to think about this." He laid his hand on Aramis' head. "I've often thought about your lack of restraint and reckoned it must be liberating. I'm beginning now to realise it's just callous and irresponsible."

\---

Three weeks passed by and Porthos had still not returned to their bed. He was affable enough to him at the garrison, joking and laughing as normal, but Aramis missed his lover dreadfully.

He found himself blaming the world and all that lived in it for his misery, but above all he charged Athos with the responsibility. Athos who had insisted he tell Porthos, despite the fact he was unable to have normal intercourse of any kind with another person.

"Thanks to you he no longer welcomes me," he said to Athos as they sparred with rapiers in the training yard.

"Give him time," said Athos, coming back at him with a flurry. "It is a significant matter."

"And one that he never needed to know," snapped Aramis, responding with a fierce attack.

"Then I apologise," said Athos in a monotone. "You should have continued to lie to him." Defending himself unsuccessfully, he fell to the ground with Aramis kneeling over him, parrying dagger to his throat. 

For a second he saw a flash of arousal in Athos' eyes, but it was soon overtaken by pain. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"A wound has not healed as it should," confessed Athos, sitting up and unbuckling his padded jerkin. He lifted the material to show Aramis the problem.

The site showed no sign of putrefaction, but it needed attention. "You cannot keep reopening scar tissue and expect it to heal," Aramis said. "The surgeon will attend to it."

Athos nodded, covering himself up, and Aramis knew the man had no intention of letting their regimental butcher look after him.

"Come to my rooms after training is over," he sighed. "I'll stitch it and dress it for you." He had a few home truths he wanted to impart.

Tidying himself after the long session, Aramis could feel eyes upon him, and turned to see Porthos watching from a distance. As he left with Athos, he knew they were still under observation and he would be more than happy if Porthos wanted to come with them, but he'd begged enough.

"I have things of a serious nature to discuss with you, Athos," said Aramis as they walked side by side through the filthy streets. Evening was upon them, the atmosphere was fetid and sour, and it matched his mood.

"I rather thought you might," said Athos calmly. "Perhaps we should stop off for a drink first."

"Not if I'm to sew you up," said Aramis.

"It would probably not be wise," said Athos.

"Indeed not."

Once inside Aramis' rooms, Athos threw open the doors to the small private courtyard and peered into the gloom. "Paris seems too small at present," he said wearily.

"Take off your clothes," said Aramis. He had no time for the man and his misery tonight.

"All of them?"

Aramis nodded curtly. "I need to see the full extent of the damage you've been inflicting on yourself."

Athos undressed slowly. "You make it sound as if I've been wielding the knife."

"You pay whores to do it for you. If that's not self inflicted I don't know what is." Aramis examined his skin, noting the deep bruising around his neck. "This is why you wear the scarf?"

"It is. Some are not as careful as others."

Aramis circled Athos as he stood, tracing old wounds with his fingertips. "There are two that need attention," he said. "The one one your chest that you showed me and this here," he cupped his hand over the very top of Athos' thigh. "This must be painful."

"It is," admitted Athos. "They both are, but..."

"But you will open them again even if I sew them?"

"I will."

"I'll stitch them anyway," said Aramis. "Lie on the bed."

Athos did as he was told, the imbalance of nudity making him meeker than usual.

"What you are doing is irresponsible and dangerous," said Aramis as he began the difficult task of suturing the chest wound by candle light.

"Dangerous yes," said Athos. "I freely admit that, but I have no one to behave responsibly for, except myself."

"You have Porthos and I," said Aramis in a grim voice. "But we are not enough." Athos thrashed in discomfort. "Keep still, or this will take much longer than it needs."

"I’m embarrassed," admitted Athos.

"There is no need to be," said Aramis as he tied off the suture and turned his attention to the wound on Athos' thigh. "I would ask one thing of you." As the needle pierced the delicate skin at the crease where leg met torso Aramis couldn't fail to notice the effect this was having on the man's cock.

"What?" said Athos, and true to his word he was flushed red with shame.

"Don't go back to the brothel. A stranglehold gone wrong and you will be dead. Wounds from a dirty knife could easily fester."

"I cannot do without it," said Athos quietly.

"I am aware," said Aramis, diligently working away and ignoring both Athos' discomfort and his erection. "And there is a solution."

"What is going on here?" said a voice from the doorway.

Athos made a despairing sound and turned his face to the wall.

"Porthos, I’m glad to see you home at last," said Aramis, greeting him with a smile.

"What is going on?" repeated Porthos, stepping inside and closing the door.

"Our friend here has been risking his life in dangerous pursuits. I’m repairing him and trying to convince him not to repeat his mistakes." Tying off the second suture he looked down at his patient. "Shall I tell him, Athos?"

Athos nodded slowly.

"He needs more than an edge of pain with his pleasure. I hunted him down at Madame Angel's, enjoying some high risk attentions from the whores."

"What choice do I have?" Athos said, and there was despair in his voice. "I don’t _want_ to go there: to have these things done to me."

"Then tell us and we will help you." Aramis looked to Porthos who nodded and came over to sit on the edge of the bed with them. "We are already lovers, are we not?"

“This thing I need does not feel like love," said Athos. "Anything but."

"But perhaps it could," said Aramis and excitement built in the pit of his stomach at the idea of satisfying Athos' urges. "Shall we at least try?"

Again Athos nodded, quickly, full of uncertainty and Porthos kissed him on the forehead. "It would be easier if we undressed too," he said.

"It would," said Athos.

Both men stood, and Aramis looked askance at Porthos before helping him out of his clothes. In many ways it was better having Athos here with them for this reunion. He needed them, and that in itself was catalyst enough to bring them closer.

"How shall we do this?" said Aramis softly. "Tell us what you need."

"If you lie on the bed," Athos said to Porthos and when he did so Athos lay against him, dragging at his arm until it was hooked around his throat.

"Can I fuck you like this?" Porthos said.

"Please," said Athos, gasping as Porthos' fingers stretched him open and that big prick pushed inside.

Aramis knew the way in which he was needed. Scalpel in hand, he opened a fresh incision on Athos' thigh then leaned in close, his tongue fluttering over the wound and lapping at the blood. Whether it was the breathy moans, or the act of drinking, Aramis could not discern, but he fell into a frenzy, going from wound to cock, transferring mouthfuls of blood over Athos' erection and then laving it up as Porthos fucked him.

Overwhelmed from desire he sprawled over Athos, aligning their cocks and rubbing them together. Taking the scalpel he slit him open an inch, a fraction above the nipple, feeding from him as the three men rocked together in unison.

"Now Porthos, please," begged Athos and as Porthos tightened his stranglehold Aramis watched as eyes rolled in his head and he spasmed and climaxed in their arms Porthos and Aramis staring at each other as they reached a shared orgasm.

"Is he okay?" asked Porthos.

Shifting to one side, Aramis checked Athos over. "He's unconscious, but his breathing is fine and he has a steady pulse." He could still taste the iron tang of Athos' blood, and suffered an aftershock of guilt at how much he had enjoyed him this way.

Getting up from the bed, he wrung out a washcloth in the bowl of cold water and cleaned his face and body. Rinsing the rag he brought it and a cup of wine back to bed, and, after feeding Porthos sips of claret, he tended to Athos, washing his wounds and cleaning the semen from him.

"Thank you," said Athos, looking around him in groggy fashion as he came to.

"I think it's safe to say we all had fun," said Porthos, his arms fastened around Athos.

"Although safe is perhaps not the best description," said Aramis. "But I'm relieved that we can help. He kissed Porthos and then Athos on the lips and afterwards offered them both a drink of wine.

"No wonder you weren't shocked at finding us in bed together all those years ago," laughed Porthos.

"We were too tame for you," smiled Aramis, curling into Porthos side and pulling the blanket over them.

"You were everything that I wanted, but unfortunately not what I needed," said Athos, shifting in the bed until he was against Porthos left side, in a mirror of Aramis. "Now I believe you are everything."

"And I couldn’t be more happy to hear it," said Aramis.


End file.
